The Book Of Seth | Rebecca Jones-Howe


Seth’s fingers started shaking when he pulled up to the rehabilitation centre. His father, Adam, shifted in the passenger seat, still smelling of sherry. Seth glanced at the entrance, wondering what father would smell like when he walked out a sober man.

“What are you going to do while I’m gone?” Adam asked.

Seth shrugged. “I’ll take care of the house.”

Adam sighed and opened the side pocket of his duffel bag. He pulled out a photograph and handed it to Seth. It was the closest thing to a full family photo Seth had ever seen, taken while his mother was still pregnant with him, just before Cain killed Abel.

“Your mom really liked this picture,” Adam said. “I think in the end it’s what made her kill herself, though. It was just a bad reminder, you know?”

Cain’s black hair was the only exception within the family of blondes. He smiled devilish in the photo, his chiseled jaw accented with facial hair. He stood tall and broad-shouldered. He towered over the rest of the family. His dark eyes pierced through the photo.

“You should get a job,” Adam said. “You should make something of yourself.”

“Yeah.” Seth’s throat tightened. He looked back at the photo.

His father gripped at his duffel bag and opened the door. He waved at Seth before he entered the admissions building.
Seth set the photo on the dashboard. He put the car back into drive. His hands were still shaking when he gripped the steering wheel.


The scent of sherry vacated the house and was replaced with the stale aroma of dust.

Seth evaded the emptiness in his basement bedroom, sitting before the cleansing glow of his computer monitor. He stroked himself to a video of a girl spreading her legs on a couch, who nodded and smiled when the voice behind the camera asked if she was ready to get fisted. The voice was deep, husky, greedy. Seth pictured it was how Cain must have sounded while he was chopping up Abel’s face with the hatchet, saying, “Take it, bitch. How do you like that, bitch? Huh?”

Seth’s dick went limp.

He left an angry comment on the video: You’re talking too much. I could make a better porn than you, man.

The other comments responded like followers:



Seth003 is right. Bitch was HOT, though.


A girl moved into the basement suite for rent across the street. She spent her days tanning on the front lawn, giving Seth a reason to go outside and mow the grass. He only got half the lawn done before the girl walked across the street in her bare feet.

She said her name was Azura Rose.

Seth asked, “Is that really your name?”

Azura smiled and shook her head, but Seth played along. She wore cut-off thrift store denim shorts and a mid-riff shirt that showed off the pink rhinestone in her belly button. She asked, “What’s your name, sexy?” and Seth answered. She said Seth was a nice name.

Azura leaned in closer. She pressed her lips against his ear and asked, “Are you a real man, Seth?” She flattened her palm against his beating chest. “You’d treat me nice, wouldn’t you?”

Seth said, “I’d make you a star if I could.”

Azura smiled. She ended up in Seth’s bedroom, ended up taking off her clothes when Seth asked her to, ended up bending over Seth’s computer desk. Seth took her from behind. He pushed his aggression into her soft warmth. His gaze drifted to the family photo, Cain staring him down. He pushed the picture aside and closed his eyes so there was only black. His throat went tight. Heat filled his chest. He leaned over Azura’s back, grabbing her tits with his shaking hands. He fucked her harder and his groan echoed, lungs heaving relief as he spilt himself into her. Then Azura climbed on his desk on all fours, her knees spread. His liquid seed gushed from her hole, sticky and shiny, and she rubbed at her lips, at the wetness, all smiles.


Seth bought a handheld video camera. It was small and lightweight, so he could do things like unzip his pants and pull his dick out and stroke himself with one hand while he held the camera in the other.

His first video was of himself, jerking off in front of the computer. He shot his wad all over his keyboard. The light from the monitor cast a heavenly glow over the white thickness that seeped between the keys.

He uploaded the video. The women who responded sounded just like Azura Rose.

One comment read: “You’ve got a nice juicy dick. Mmm, more please!”

One comment read: “I’d lick your keyboard clean for you, sir!”

One comment read: “My greatest fantasy is now to gag to death on your glorious meat rod!”


Seth received a call from the prison. Cain wanted to talk.

He said, “I’m up for parole soon. I wouldn’t mind meeting you.”

Seth swallowed, the heat filling his chest again. He ran his fingers down over the wall, over the dark rectangles where all the family photos used to be. This was before his mother tore them down, before his father found her dead in a bathtub full of red. His grip tightened around the receiver.

Cain asked, “Hey, brother?” His voice was dark, greedy, just like all the voices in the shitty videos Seth used to masturbate to.

“I know enough about you already.” Seth hung up, hands shaking. His gaze drifted to the liquor cabinet across the room.


Seth pointed the camera at Azura. He said, “Get on your knees,” and Azura lowered herself and crawled to him, between his knees.

Seth said, “Suck me off,” and Azura circled her pink lips around the head of his dick, lowered her mouth around him, took all of him. Her throat clenched around him. She coughed him up and took him down again. Her mascara ran black down her cheeks. She gagged the length of his dick until he groaned, until he brushed the hair from her forehead. He said, “I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much.”

He gushed over her face, washed her blowjob tears with his glistening white seed.

His followers blossomed.


Seth asked Azura if she wanted to move in with him.

She introduced Seth to her friends, women who smiled when Seth brought his camera out. Blonde, brunettes, redheads; he sidled close and stroked their thighs and he filmed them and asked, “Do you wanna be my star tonight, baby?”

Every girl smiled and nodded.

Seth started a website. He bought a tripod so he could film scenes with wider angles. He acquired followers who purchased his videos, who recommended clips to friends. They called Seth a God, an Idol, the Divine Incarnation of Gonzo Porn.

They said, “Seth, you make life worth living.”


Cain’s picture was in the newspaper. He had a beard, fresh out of prison. Seth put the paper down. He made himself a drink.

Azura looked down at the paper. She said, “I’d fuck him.”

Seth met her gaze. His throat tightened.

Azura cupped his cheek in her hand. She said, “It would make you mad, baby. It would motivate you.” Her fingers slipped down his neck, down his chest, the anxiety brimming. She kissed him and said, “I like you when you’re motivated.” She took the drink from his hand and reached for his dick.

She asked, “What did your dad do after your mom killed herself?”

Seth swallowed, tasting his father’s cheap sherry, dark red thickness in my mouth, bloodshed.

Azura said, “You’re not like your dad. You’re a new man, Seth. You’re innovative.”


Seth was editing videos in his bedroom when Cain called from his halfway house. He asked,

“Do you still not want to see me, brother? I see you when I get my hour on the computer.”

Seth inhaled, the heat filling his lungs.

Cain asked, “What does Dad think of that bitch you’re always fucking?”

Seth picked up the photo on his desk, Cain’s hair dark like demiurge that buried Cain in his mother’s stomach. Seth said, “When Dad was drunk, he used to insist that you weren’t his son.”

Cain’s voice deepened when he laughed. “He used to say that to me, too.”

Seth put the picture down.

“You wanna talk about this, Seth? Is it going to make you feel better to talk about it?” Cain’s voice sounded darker.

Seth’s chest throbbed. He hung up again. He needed a drink.


Seth’s fingers shook around the camera. He pointed it at Azura on the kitchen table. He said, “Hold your legs behind your head.”

Seth said, “Spread your pussy open for me.”

All Seth could see was the hatchet raised in Cain’s grasp, the blood spreading from the gash in Abel’s face.

Seth said, “Finger your gash for me,” and he tried to stroke himself while he held the camera. He couldn’t get hard.

All Seth could think of was Abel’s blonde hair, bright and pure before his body was cremated and his ashes were buried in a tiny box in the ground. Seth beat himself until the spit dried in his palm, until his dick burned. He put the camera down.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Azura uncoiled, swinging her legs over the edge of the table. She picked up the camera and turned it on him.

Seth shook his head. He covered the camera lens with his hand.

Azura pushed him back and climbed over him. She kept the camera pointed at his face while she took his dick in her hand. She stroked him and asked, “Are you scared of him, baby?”

Seth shook his head. His breath shuddered when he said, “He makes me so angry.”

Azura said, “Show me how angry he makes you, baby.”

Seth pulled the camera out of her grasp. He set it up on the tripod and pushed her onto her knees. He took her from behind and gripped her hair in his fist. He said, “I’ll fucking kill him, baby. I’ll smear his blood all over your face. I’ll fuck you over his corpse, baby. I’ll do it, I swear.”

Azura moaned. She said, “I’ll do anything for you, Seth. I love you so much.” She buried her manicured nails in the table, scratching the surface when she came.


Seth’s followers said, “We’re on your side, Seth.”

The hits brimmed his bank account. Seth hired contractors to renovate the entire house. Seth bought a better video camera. Every night after the contractors left, Seth and Azura filmed themselves fucking on the new granite countertops, in the two-person tiled shower, on the brand new living room floors. Azura invited her friends, filled the house with strangers, girls and guys and drinks and first-person fucking through his the lens of his camera.

Seth poured sherry into his father’s glass.

A dark greedy voice grunted through the other voices in the house. Seth lifted the camera and took his drink into the living room, where Azura was straddled over Cain’s lap. Everyone watched Azura’s tits bounce while she writhed.

Cain said, “Yeah, bounce on it, bitch. You like that, bitch?”

Seth lifted the camera and Azura looked up. She looked into the lens. She smiled. She said, “I love it, I fucking love it, baby.”

The sherry burned down Seth’s throat, thick like blood. His grip tightened around the camera, sweat slipping over the hard plastic, the pulse in his fingers throbbing, heart beating in his chest, throbbing in his ears. Azura kept her eyes on Seth. She reached for the camera just as Cain started to groan.

Seth grabbed his brother’s black hair. He pulled Cain’s head back and smashed the glass against his forehead. There was red from the sherry, and then red from the blood. Cain’s dark groan filled the room. He fell back, Azura still on top of him, thighs braced around his waist while she filmed.

Girls gasped. Girls shrieked, their bare feet scrambling on the hardwood floor. Somebody said, “Call the police.”
Seth said, “Get out.”

Cain’s clutched his face in his hand. His groan turned into a laugh and he asked, “You think you’re a real man, don’t you?” Cain grabbed Azura’s arm. He pulled her hair. He pried the camera out of her grasp and threw it across the room before he shoved Azura aside.

Seth tackled his brother, but Cain was bigger, stronger, and he wrestled Seth to the ground. He gripped his hands around Seth’s throat. “You think you’re a real man, don’t you?” The blood dripped off his face and into Seth’s blonde hair.

Cain said, “You’re just like Abel, just some scrawny piece of shit who thinks he’s got a big dick.”

Seth reached up, tried to pry his brother’s hands away.

Cain asked, “Do you know how hard it it to pretend to be remorseful?”

Seth couldn’t breathe. He struggled, hands reaching, fingers scraped against the broken base of his father’s glass. The sting was cooling, and he gripped the cool glass and swung it against Cain’s face.

Cain groaned, hands loosening, and Seth pushed him off, climbing over his brother. Seth said, “I just want people to know you. I want people to see you.” He dragged the pointed broken tip of the glass into the wound on Cain’s forehead, marking him deep, blood thick, dripping down, staining the floor. Seth tasted it in his mouth, and he brought his fist down against his brother’s face until his dark groans ceased.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

Seth exhaled, staring at his unconscious brother, at the gash on his face that made him as ugly as he was inside. Seth exhaled deep breaths of relief, and he looked up at Azura. She was standing across the room with her thighs parted.

She said, “I didn’t think he came.”

Cain’s glistening white seed dripped down her leg.

Seth’s throat went tight again.

The sirens got louder.



Rebecca Jones-Howe

 Rebecca Jones-Howe writes dirty short stories that can still be considered  “literary”. Her work has appeared in L’Allure des Mots and Pulp Modern and other publications. She lives with her husband in Kamloops, British Columbia and can be found online at

One Response to “The Book Of Seth | Rebecca Jones-Howe”

  1. thetitularauthor April 1, 2013 at 5:01 am #

    hell yeah!

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